


My Jackass Valentine

by SilverLining2k6



Category: Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Valentine's Day, flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 12:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9726026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLining2k6/pseuds/SilverLining2k6
Summary: So much for hiding out from Valentine's Day.  Veronica makes bail, but needs a ride home.Canon through 3x14 Mars Bars.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BryroseA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BryroseA/gifts).



> For Bryrosea. Hoping your week gets better! We miss you!
> 
> I noticed another fic posted this week set during the same episode. I haven't read it yet, so any potential similarities are purely coincidental. 
> 
> I'm guessing I surpassed the 1K limit. I've purposely avoided looking at my word count so that I wouldn't let it affect the story. Regardless, I KNOW I've gone over, and was strongly encouraged by two other librarians to post it to the challenge, anyway.  
> This goes for anyone, by the way. If you've been holding back a story because of the word limit, go ahead and post that shit! We want ALL the stories, please, regardless of length.

 

 

  


"Who wants out of jail?" Cliff calls out in his deep baritone.

"I do! I do!" I sing, bouncing on my toes like a game show contestant. Big mistake. I've been holding my bladder for six hours.

While Cliff handles the paperwork, I sprint to the restroom.

Time spent in a Neptune jail cell, does nothing special for the complexion. I wash my hands, and the mirror reflects a sallow pallor, dark circles, and two dirty smudges from where I leaned against the bars. I take a minute to freshen up, scrubbing my face with brown dispenser towels, combing my hair back into a ponytail, and applying fresh deodorant. A quick coat of mascara, and I'm ready to face the world. Or my television as it so happens. While everyone else celebrates their love with chocolates and Hallmark cards, I'll be catching up on One Tree Hill. But who knows, maybe Brucas will finally throw me a bone and admit they're still in love.

I'm pulling on my hoodie when shouts erupt in the lobby. A female voice yells, "Get your damn hands off me! This is America, and I have rights!"

Someone howls - a man this time, but high-pitched. I ease the door ajar and peek through the opening.

Logan's back, for some reason. But for once, he's not at the center of the commotion. He stands next to Cliff, endearingly slack-jawed and wide-eyed. For once, _I'm_ not the cause of his stupefaction.

I follow the direction of his stare to where Lamb writhes on the floor, both hands shielding his crotch. Above him, Loretta Cancun, dressed in red hot pants and a surprisingly-elegant knotted silk blouse, struggles with Sacks and Deputy Gills. "I'll sue. I'll take everything you own, motherfuckers."

"Arrest her!" Lamb chokes out.

Logan notices me first. His mouth spreads wide, eyes flicking to Loretta and back. _Can you believe this?_

 _Just another Wednesday in Neptune, if you ask me._ I saunter over to Cliff's other side. "I see your client is as charming as ever, Cliffy."

"She's a peach, Vee. Looks like I'm going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future. Can you find another ride home?" He jerks his chin toward Logan in an obvious manner.

"I can drive her."

_You certainly can._

"Good man." Cliff slaps Logan's shoulder and - without waiting for my opinion on the arrangement - moves off to wrangle Ms. Cancun.

"I can call a cab, Logan. You don't have to give me a ride."  Maybe Wallace hasn't gotten too far.   

"No, it's fine. I don't mind." He's long and lean in his black sweater and jeans, and my cheeks warm recalling the steamy daydreams that followed his earlier visit. Not to be graphic, but at last count, I'd devised at least fourteen pleasurable combinations for having my way with his body around those jail cell bars. I'm creative like that.

It's a cruel fact of life that Logan Echolls is always fifty percent more touchable when I'm not allowed to touch. Case in point, Loretta Cancun is in full She-Hulk mode, and I'm thinking about sexin' my ex.

_Get a hold of yourself, Mars._

We both wince and avert our eyes as Loretta grabs Sacks by his mustache. Amidst the shrieks, Deputy Gills tries pulling her from behind, receiving a backwards head-butt for his trouble. He stumbles back two steps, trips over Lamb, and goes down on his ass.

I nudge Logan with my shoulder. "I've got a spoon and a straw. Whaddya say we tunnel outta here before she mistakes us for cops?"

He smirks and points a thumb over his shoulder. "Or we could leave through the unguarded exit."

"Solid plan."

The Rover is familiar and comfortable, and I blame that for my lapse of sanity. As Logan shifts the vehicle into Drive, I hold out my hand, wiggling my fingers for emphasis.

Logan gives me an odd look, but doesn't weave his fingers through mine.

_And why would he, Veronica? We're OVER._

I snatch the hand back, shame and nausea churning in my belly. "That wasn't what you think. I was just…"

"Relax, Veronica. I get it." He lifts his eyes to the rearview mirror. "Nonstop plotting-and-planning is bound to make the palms sweaty. You were just waiting for me to turn on the blower."

I fake a laugh. "I see you've finally read the hygiene chapter of the World Domination handbook."

Slow nod. "And I even took notes. One hand dryer, coming up." He pushes buttons on the dash.

I'm an idiot. Honestly. Not for the hand faux pas. That was a stupid, auto-pilot, accident. It could happen to anyone.

But I wish it had happened to _him_. I wish he had taken my hand out of habit. _That's_ what makes me the idiot. I want him to hold my hand. Or even better, to rest his on my thigh for the duration of the trip.

What I _really_ want is a time machine. To go back to December, and stop him from sleeping with Madison. Or further back, to undo whatever I did that made him feel unloved and unappreciated enough to leave me in the first place.

Failing that capability, I dial Mac's cell.

"Tell Logan I'm sorry he wasted a trip," she says, "We were out trying to find a fourth member for our Scavenger Hunt team. We'll have to forfeit if we don’t find someone soon."

"Have you tried Wallace?"

"He's not answering his phone. Hey..." She pauses. "Logan gets along with Parker, right? Think he'd be willing to partner-up with her for this game?"

Heat rises in my chest. _Partner with Parker?_

_Blonde, perky, easygoing, supermodel-pretty, SINGLE-AND-READY-TO-MINGLE Parker Lee? Not. Happening._

He's eavesdropping. Sure, he looks like he's watching the road, but Logan Echolls is incurably, deceptively, nosy.

I angle my shoulder and lower my voice. "Um…he's busy tonight. Mentioned something about having plans. Big plans."

Mac hears the lie, answers with a smirk. " _Right_. Well tell Logan to enjoy his _big plans_ , and I'll try Wallace again."

"I don't mind going back," he says when I disconnect the call. "That's what she wanted, right? For me to drive back to campus with the wireless card?"

"I've already taken advantage of your kindness today. Twice if you count this ride. I'll bring it to her tomorrow."

"Okay. Sure." He fishes the tiny object from his pocket, holding it out in his hand.

"Thanks. You didn't have to bring it all the way back to me, but I appreciate that you did."

Remember that game, ‘Operation’, where you extract tiny items from holes without touching the sides? Well, there's a reason I'll never be a surgeon. No buzzers sound when my fingers brush against his palm, Logan's nose doesn't light-up at the contact, but parts of _me_ certainly do.  Those parts need to take a damn nap.

"No problem." He gives me a tentative smile, and pulls to a stop in front of my building.

I slide down to the ground, turning back around to face him. "Thanks for driving the getaway car."

"Sure thing. See you around."

 _See you around?_ The words feel so…distant.

I close the door, he pulls away, and dammit, I'm _not_ going to cry. This breakup was my decision, and I need to get used to it.

As I move towards my unit, a hand loops through my elbow jerking me around and making my heart stutter.

"Hey, it's me." Josh Berry hisses from under his hood. "Just keep walking. I need to show you something."

The next few minutes are a blur of kidnapped ballers in tiny trunks and paranoid rantings. Much like my Grandma Mars, Josh talks with his hands. Unlike her, he does it while holding a gun.

Somewhere in the distance, brakes squeal. My heart races, my limbs shake, and the old _'it just went off'_ excuse makes a lot more sense. I'm going to die if I don't disarm this idiot.

"Can I see the gun?"  I carefully wrap my hands around the barrel, and Josh allows me to tug it from his hand. I open the chamber. "This is a twenty-two-caliber pistol. Your dad was shot with a forty-five."

Whatever he might’ve said next, I'll never know. Logan jumps out from behind the car, tearing off his shirt. His sweat-shiny muscles ripple and flex as his fist makes contact with Josh's face.

Josh stumbles backwards and Logan's on him, grabbing him by the collar and pummeling him with underhanded blows to the face. He ducks a wild swing and comes in hard with a right cross.

As if in slow motion, Josh hits the ground. He rolls defiantly onto his back, lips bloodied and eyes murderous.

A shiver runs through me. He may not have killed his father, but he seems capable of anything right now.

"You okay?" Logan pulls me tight against his chest, smoothing his hands over my hair. He smells like a hot bubble bath _feels_ at the end of a terrible, crappy day, and his soft sweater warms my cheek.

_What? You believed that part about him ripping off his shirt? I'm an unreliable narrator with a creative fantasy life. Sue me._

"Yeah, I'm fine." Except for that whole, wishing-you-were-shirtless-so-I-could-lick-a-nipple thing.

Garbled moans bring me back to the real world.

I reluctantly step away from Logan, and pull the duct tape from Mason's mouth.

"Great job, geniuses," Mason spits. "While you two were busy _hugging it out_ , that psycho got away, and I want to know what you're—"

Logan leans into the trunk and presses the tape back in place.

"Be nice," I admonish. I suppress my grin on the outside, but I know _he knows_ I approve.

Mason isn't wrong. At some point while I was getting my snuggle-on with Admiral Eye-candy, Josh slipped away. 

Still, if you gave me an opportunity to relive the last minute, I wouldn't change a thing.  This isn't the first time I've been cornered by a guy with a gun, nor the first time Logan entered, fists-a-flying. If we follow our usual script, the smooching should commence in three...two...

Logan bends, retrieves the gun from the ground, and hands it to me.

 _Well this is embarrassing._ Before he jumped-in all sexy-punchy, I’m pretty sure I was holding that gun. 

He ducks, snaring my attention.  "Stay here with the ingrate. I'll be right back."

Right.  No smooching.

Using a knife, I slice through the layers of duct-tape binding Mason's hands and feet. He's just climbing out of the trunk when Logan returns.

"No sign of that guy." He's breathless and keeps staring over his shoulder. "He must've stashed a getaway car somewhere."

"Well, he's a fugitive from the law, so…probably not hanging around." I turn to Mason. "I suggest you find somewhere public to hang out tonight. Make sure there's witnesses."

"Can I have my gun back?" he holds out a hand.

"Keep dreaming."

He wants to argue, but one glance at Logan's glowering face, and he changes his mind.  Slides behind the wheel instead, still grumbling under his breath.

"Your dad around?" Logan asks, walking me to my door.

"He's working a case. Which is why Cliff was supposed to give me a ride."

"I'll hang around until he gets home."

I pause in the act of searching for my keys.  "I appreciate the concern, but that's not necessary. Josh won't hurt me."

"Forgive me if I don't take your word for it. Whatever you might think, that guy wasn't playing with a full deck."

"I mean it, Logan. Ten minutes ago, you were all: _'See ya around.'_ "  My dismissive _'dude'_ impression could use some work, it sounds nothing like Logan. "Anyway, I don't need your pity-company now."

He laughs, like it's funny or something. "You call it _'pity company',_ I call it, _'not letting the lunatic with a gun get to my friend.'_ "

 _Friend_? That's what we're calling it these days?

He continues. "Or, we could…I don't know…call the police?"

"You can stay," I sigh. "For a _little_ while."

I stash the gun in the freezer, and sneak in a quick shower while Logan walks Backup.

He's gone longer than expected, and when he finally taps on the door, he's juggling a fast food bag, a cup holder, his backpack and the dog's leash.

I grab two paper plates from the kitchen and, while I divide up the food, Logan spreads the contents of his backpack across the coffee table. A textbook, a spiral notebook and a trio of folders.

"Just make yourself at home," I mumble.

"I will. Thanks." He pulls a handful of papers from a yellow folder, thumbing through them and rearranging the order. He doesn't glance up when I set down his plate, merely taps blindly at it until his hand finds the burger.

This is how he wants to hang out? I'm a bit miffed, to be honest. Usually, the sight of me in a tank top and these tiny plaid shorts turns him amorous and handsy. Yet, he's barely looked at me since returning. 

I dial my dad's cell. "Hey pops, it's me. Freshly sprung from the slammer, and ready for life as a productive member of society. Just wondering when you'll be back."

"Unfortunately, something's come up. It'll be a couple hours," Dad says. "Why?"

"A few minutes? Awesome. I'll talk to you when you get here."

Dad goes on alert. "Veronica? Is there somebody standing right there?"

"Not what you're thinking. Just… _Logan_." It's funny how a single word can communicate so much. "I'll see you in a bit."

Logan watches me, suspicious. "Lemme talk to your dad."

"Too late." I disconnect the call and shrug. "He had to go, but he'll be back any minute, so you can actually go ahead and leave."

Logan sighs, stands up, and pulls his own cell from his pocket.

_You wouldn't._

"Hey, Mr. Mars, it's Logan…Yes, she is trying to get rid of me, but no, I'm not forcing a serious conversation on her. Has that worked for anyone, _eve_ r?" He snorts. "Yeah, she's a stubborn girl. I'm actually worried about her safety right now. Wow, you're following a lead all the way in San Diego? That'll make it difficult for you to get back here in a few minutes."

Logan winks at me. _Bluff called._

_Grrr._

"What happened?" From his intonation, I  gather he's repeating my Dad's question.  

I mouth the words _'Don't You Dare'_.

He grins and turns his back to me. "Well...I dropped Veronica off in front of your building. No, Cliff is held-up at the station with another client. Anyway, as I pulled away I saw some guy manhandling her in my side mirror. No, not immediately. I held back until I saw him screaming, and waving a gun at her, then I jumped in." He pulls the phone away from his ear while my dad loudly vents his frustration. "No, we're both fine. I may have busted the guy's lip."

I press my hands to my face. Dad will never let me leave the house again.

"The guy he had locked-up in the trunk seems fine, too.  A little shaken-up."

DAMMIT, LOGAN!

"No, he ran off while I was checking on Veronica. Sure, I'd be happy to stay here with Veronica until you get back. Sure thing, Mr. Mars. Talk to you in a few hours. Good luck on that case."

I'm fuming when he turns back around. "You are SO gonna pay for that."

"Really? What are you gonna do? Break up with me?" He shakes his head, amused, collapses onto the couch, and opens his text book.

_Glad it's such a joke to you._

I stare daggers at him, but can't seem to draw blood.  He pays no attention.  

Sighing, I slump into Dad's chair, stretching my feet out on the coffee table.  Right on top of his orange folder, incidentally.

At least he remembered to order my burger without pickles.  I like pickles, just not embedded in my cheese.  I'd almost award him ex-boyfriend points for that, but we've only been broken up for three weeks. Getting my order  _wrong_  would have been a dick move.

"For the record, Josh wasn't waving the gun _at_ me. He was just gesturing with it."

Logan glances up, eyes lingering momentarily on my outstretched legs. "I'll make sure they print that on your funeral program. It'll comfort your loved ones." He highlights a chunk of text in pink.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He gestures to his papers as if it should be obvious. "Several week's worth of makeup work.  Turns out, a brain tumor doesn't buy you much sympathy in college.  My Economics professor wants to fail me.  I'm hoping not to give him the satisfaction."  

"Brain tumor? Pffft."  I blow the raspberries, and give him a sad head shake.  "You kids these days.  Back when I was your age, if we weren't literally holding our guts in from a knife wound, we'd be in class."  

"My age, huh?  So last year?"  

I nod.  "Back when we were made of sturdier stuff."  

Logan gives me a half-smile.  "You don't have to entertain me, Veronica. Do whatever you had planned. I'll just be here working."

"Oh, well thanks for your permission, Boss. And what if I had a date planned for tonight?"

_What if my love life consisted of more than pining for you?_

"Sounds great. Will it get you away from the house until your dad gets home?"

 _Could you at least pretend to be jealous?_   "What if Josh Barry _WAS_ my Valentines date?"

"The guy with the gun?"

"Yeah. He's a good-looking enough guy."  

Logan twirls his highlighter between his fingers, smirks. "Well then, I 'spose I would have to reevaluate my many failures and shortcomings as a boyfriend."

_Jackass._

He glances up, face blank. " _DO_ you have a date? With the gun-waving lunatic or otherwise?"

"No." My lip threatens to poke out. I frown instead. "Actually, Lamb foiled my Valentine's Day avoidance tactics by letting me out. How about you? No big plans? I'm sure the girls are lining up, now that you're available again."

"Maybe.  They'll have to take a number, and get behind _this_ line." He double taps his stack of assignments, and bends his head back to his book.

As he mentioned earlier, we're both adults now. Therefore, I do not fling my burger at him. It's tempting, though. If I wasn't starving.

It's not that I really want him to leave, _QUITE_ the opposite. The problem is _'See ya around'._ The indifference. He'd driven away earlier with no hesitation or regret, and is only here now out of obligation. He'd probably rather be anywhere else.

I turn on the television, flipping channels, and settling on some generic rom-com (short on the _com_ ) where C-List leads appear to be competing against each other for some coveted award.

I lower the volume, inventing my own creative dialogue for the characters between bites of burgers and fries. This used to be one of our favorite activities, but Logan doesn't join-in at his cue.

_You would think that I was the one who fucked-up everything._

On the end table, at the bottom of a stack of mail, sits the February issue of Cosmo I picked up as a prop for a case. I brush aside the bills and slide the magazine closer for browsing while I eat.

 **ALONE ON VALENTINES DAY?** Reads the headline. **HOW TO BE YOUR OWN BEST VALENTINE.**

I roll my eyes. February 14th is just like any other day of the year. It's a pseudo-holiday, manufactured to sell more cards and flowers. How is it any different from being alone on February 13th?

 _Ugh._ When did I become so jaded?

I used to love February, and all the iconography that came with it. Cupids and lace, pink and white and red, and hearts of every size and shape. While my classmates would mark their valentines with perfunctory signatures, I always added personal touches: _Dick, Thanks for showing me the trick with the Elmer's Glue, but I'm glad you stopped eating the peelings. Meg, thank you for bringing in the cupcakes today. I loved the sprinkles the best. Duncan, don't listen to Sean. I thought your answer in Social Studies was very smart._

The article is packed with tips for treating yourself like you would want to be treated by a lover. Some are obvious, some are clever, a few are racy.

None of it is _bad_ advice. Carly from Seattle recommends laughter, rewatching comedy faves like the Princess Bride. 'There's no shame in treating yourself to flowers and chocolates', says Deanna from Dallas. LaToya from Vegas organizes annual friend-group dates, and Amy from New York takes scented candlelit baths, followed by private-time with a high-end vibrator.

"Why don't I own a high-end vibrator?" I muse aloud. Maybe on purpose.

_Definitely on purpose._

Logan lifts his pen, his head and his right eyebrow.

I wiggle the magazine in explanation. "Cosmo recommendations for _Being My Own Best Valentine._ "

He nods. "Try the sex shop on 8th Street. Nice selection."

A dozen questions form on my lips - nosy-girlfriend interrogation questions - but Logan's already resumed what he was doing.

I open the magazine to where my finger marks the page.

It's a feel-good article, reinforcing the idea that we are strong, intelligent, complete women, worthy of love.

But throughout the quotes of empowerment and self-love is a pervasive subtext. We're only alone _for now_ , we're killing time until our GPS-challenged soul mates arrive to take ownership of the Department of Wining and Dining.

_Don't worry ladies, he (or she) is on their way._

There's nothing wrong with hope, but I feel a bit like a fraud. Alone on Valentine's Day by choice. Because I couldn't get past my jealousy and anger. Because Logan needed to pay. To feel as miserable and dejected as I did.

_He fucked Madison Sinclair, of all people!_

The thought doesn't trigger the same kind of rage it had weeks ago. I'm not completely over it, but what I'd previously interpreted as a pointed slap-in-the-face, now seems like the most pathetic kind of hookup.

Madison is too tightly-wound to pursue sex for the sake of sex. She would've done it for the sake of gain. For Status? Power? Revenge? Affection? Did she believe she could leverage one night into a regular occurrence?

As for Logan, no matter the scenarios and day-nightmares my traitorous mind tried to spin, it hadn't been a positive experience for him.  His nausea had been palpable the night of his half-assed confession. So, why'd he do it? Who knows? I would beg, borrow, or steal to get my hands on an authentic Logan Echolls psych evaluation.  Just to better understand what makes him tick.

If I had to put money on the Aspen debacle, I'd guess it was a perfect storm of alcohol, depression, and self-destruction. Some fawning on Madison's part, a bit of _'if Veronica had really loved you, she would've...'_ He'd have been ripe for the picking.

Logan pats the table for a second, lifts his head and zeroes in on where I've trapped his folder. He smirks, tickling his fingers over the sole of my right foot. When I snatch it away, he grabs the folder, moving it to the other side of the table.

_Tricky boy._

The anger doesn't burn in me anymore. I mostly feel pity.

Pity for Madison, who doesn't possess the kind of spark that would ever make her a romantic option for Logan (nor the self-awareness to realize her lack). For Logan, who must've known the end was coming before we even began. For myself, finally coming to grips with the fact that losing Logan hurts ten times more than what happened in Aspen.

_So, tell me, Cosmo, where's the advice for vengeful singles? The righteously angry? The regretful? Those who aren't waiting around for true love to arrive, because It's been here all along?_

What if the boy you love to the point of distraction is sitting in your living room out of obligation, and ignoring you in favor of his school work?

The answer is stupidly, ridiculously, simple.

_Love him._

But…?

_No buts. Love him._

Am I ready to forgive and forget?  To wipe the slate clean?  I inventory my body for pockets of negative tension or resistance.  Nothing.

_I'm ready._

At my side, Backup stares up with huge, begging eyes. Damn!  He was still out with Logan during his usual feeding time.  

I toss him the last few bites of my burger, and he catches it in midair.

As I scoop kibble into his bowl, I rehearse my words.  I stall further while cleaning up fast food wrappers and checking my look in the bathroom mirror. I loosen my damp hair from its ponytail, and wipe away a smudge of mascara that outlasted my shower.

When I return to the living room, Logan's nose is still buried in his book.

I push back my shoulders and plant my feet. "Logan?"

He glances up, waits for me to speak.

I stare at a spot above his head, opening with, "You really hurt me when you slept with Madison."

He flinches, and I can see him reaching for sarcasm, defensiveness, annoyance; dismissing each in turn.

"I know," He says, finally, voice barely more than a whisper. He swallows hard and tries again. "I know I hurt you, and I am truly and genuinely sorry." He meets my eyes, honest, gentle, and sincere. "I would give anything to be able to take it back. To make it not happen."

"Me too."

"But I can't." His voice cracks and he lifts his hands in a gesture of futility. "What's done is done. If I thought that begging or pleading might work, I'd be on my knees. But I know you, Veronica, and _nothing_ I say or do is going to make a damn bit of difference in your eyes.

"Logan…" A ball of pain lodges in my throat.  "That's not..."

"You'll forgive me when you're damn well ready. Or you never will." He swallows again. "And I can live my life in some kind of limbo, waiting for a day that might never come. I can drink the time away, hoping you'll change your mind. Or I can do my best to keep the rest of my life from imploding." He gestures at his schoolwork. "I can't control you. I can only control myself."

"Okay." I lower myself back into my chair, head reeling from his words.

Logan tips his head back, wipes his hands over his face.  He looks at me, sad and resigned, and I should probably answer, but I don't know what the question is.  

It should be simple.   _I want you back.  I want US back._  So why am I so overwhelmed?

Logan sighs and picks up his textbook.  Subject dropped.

I'm too stubborn to flee in embarrassment, and it's too awkward to sit here in silence. I turn up the volume on the television.

When did Logan start giving a damn about passing his classes?

He'd enrolled at Hearst because I strongly encouraged him to, attended his classes because I said, " _Jump_ ". What had he said when he dumped me? _'I don't measure up to the person you want me to be'_?

NOW?  Now, he suddenly cares about his education?

This morning - what feels like a year ago - Hearst had been giving away Brach's Conversation Hearts to promote the scavenger hunt. I notice them in my open bag, as I set down the remote.

I rip open the box, shaking a lavender "HUG ME" heart onto my palm. I could certainly use a hug, but I settle for sweet, powdery grape-flavored sugar.

It wasn't supposed to go that way. I'd expected a discussion. Logan's side of things, my side of things, a plea for forgiveness, compromise, a romantic declaration, and then…swoon.

I hadn't expected him to just _shut down_ the conversation.

 

 

 

  
[](http://imgur.com/lHOcxbJ)

 

Another conversation heart. Pastel orange. "MISS YOU"

 _Ugh._ The heavy weight of emotion lodges somewhere between my esophagus and my chest.

Logan flips a page, oblivious, and _fuck him_. He doesn't get to ignore this.

The tiny heart flies from my hand before I have a chance to overthink it.

It lands right on his open book. He freezes, reading the words before glancing up, forehead wrinkled. "Have I gone somewhere?"

_How about, I MISS YOU TOO, Jackass?_

I shrug. _What? Throwing candy at my ex is something I do every day._

Logan pops the heart in his mouth, and returns to his book.

I shake a handful of candies onto my open palm.  'XOXO' tastes like mint. 'YOU ROCK', like banana.  

The next heart is white, and labeled 'HOT STUFF'.  Applicable. It lands in the same place as the first one.

This time, his lips quirk when he looks up. He thrusts out his chest, pretending to polish it with his knuckles.

I roll my eyes at him, and he snickers.

The pink 'BE MINE' bounces from the book onto his lap.  He picks it up, squints, and tosses it back.  "You need this more than I do. "

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't ask for something you're not prepared to give."

_I AM prepared to give._

I'm even prepared to put in a little extra.  To invite him off the sidelines.  To demonstrate all the little ways I'm proud of him.  To show him he's not a disappointment to me.    

I giggle when the green 'KISS ME' candy bounces off his forehead.  Logan fishes it out of his sweater and grins.  He puckers and blows me an air kiss.  

Unacceptable.

That's it. Time to bring out the big guns. I empty out the rest of the box, sifting through the contents until I find the one I'm looking for.

I move next to Logan on the couch, and he watches warily, bracing himself in preparation for my worst.

I breathe in for strength.  My mouth is dry, and my heart flutters. Taking Logan's hand, I place the candy heart on his palm.  

He blows his cheeks out and swallows, waits another beat, and finally looks down at his hand.  "Don't jerk me around, Veronica."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Not on purpose." He cups my jawline, and gives me a sad smile. "But whatever you're feeling tonight? Sadness? Loneliness? Nostalgia? In a few weeks, you'll be over it and looking for another way out.  It's not fair to—"

"No I won't!"  I clutch his wrist, trying to convey my sincerity with the strength of my grip.  "We'll learn to communicate this time. It'll be different."

"Communicate?" Logan snorts and looks away. He holds out his open palm where the tiny heart still sits. "How?  You can't even say it."

"I love you." The words spill out of my mouth, as if they have a minds-of-their-own and don't trust me not to lose my nerve.

Logan inhales sharply, mouth drooping. His eyes brim with emotion, and he squeezes them shut as if trying to dial-it-back.

I cup his cheeks between my hands, forcing him to look at me, and repeat slowly, "I love you, Logan."

He curls his lips inward, examining my face as if looking for the fine print.  

 _I love you, Logan*_  

> _*Valid only on Valentine's Day and other gift giving holidays.  For non-commercial use only, unless with express written permission and necessary for a case.  Terms subject to change, based on good behavior, fidelity, and availability of better prospects.  Null and void when Kane heir is in immediate vicinity._

"Do you still love me?" I ask, for once, allowing my inner vulnerability to show.

"Yes," he answers on an exhale.  

The tension in my chest loosens, and I scoot closer.  "Do you...MISS ME?"

"Desperately."

My lips rise at the corners. "Are you...MINE?"

"Always."

My grin stretches wide. "Are you HOT STUFF?"

Exaggerated eye roll.  "Obviously."

"Well then..." I open my mouth, placing a yellow 'KISS ME' heart on my tongue, letter-side up.

He stares at me as if mesmerized, but as the seconds pass, I begin to think I've made a major miscalculation.  I'm about to give up in humiliation, when Logan leans forward and licks the candy from my mouth.  

A moan breaks from my throat and, swinging a leg over his lap, I grab him by the collar, dragging his lips back to mine. Our mouths slide together, and we spend several very enjoyable minutes sharing a banana-flavored kiss.

"Oh my God," Logan presses our foreheads together, rubs the tip of his nose against mine. "It never stops being amazing."

I press a soft kiss to his lips. "It's even better."

He tugs my hips closer, and brings my head to his chest. Runs his hand over the back of my hair. "Happy Valentine's Day, Veronica."

"Happy Valentine's Day." I shift back to look at his face. "You know...traditionally, fellas bring their best girls a special gift for Valentine's Day. Got any chocolate hidden in that backpack?"

Logan snorts. "Yes, I predicted you would be threatened at gunpoint and stocked-up accordingly."

I make a tsk-tsk sound with my tongue. "The day's not over yet. You still have…" I glance up at the clock. "…a little over an hour until the stores close, if you felt so inclined to buy me a trinket or two. I mean, it _IS_ our first Valentine's Day together." I flutter my lashes at him.

"Trinkets, huh?" Logan smiles into my collar bone. "I like your earlier idea better."

"You'll have to be more specific, I’m a font of good ideas."

He kisses his way from my jawline to my ear, whispers, "The one about getting you a fancy vibrator."

I shouldn’t let him get away with that. At the very least, it deserves an eyeroll, a playful slap on the arm, or a witty rejoinder.

Unfortunately, my brain can’t string two together words right now, it’s too addled by the blood rushing to woefully-neglected regions of my body.

Logan smirks and tilts his head, waiting for an answer.

I lean in and bite his bottom lip. "Your place. One hour.  Bring extra batteries,  _Valentine_."

 


End file.
